


Getting the Bloody Captain to Accept Help

by skywriter123



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Carolyn won, Douglas and Martin have to pay up, Martin Whump, Martin's in his van, Starvation, go Douglas, go help the damn Captain, not for long Douglas is helping, poor martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywriter123/pseuds/skywriter123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based lightly on the Johannesburg episode; Douglas didn't keep the flight cost low enough, so he and Martin have to pay up. Douglas can, but Martin's hard for money and needs more time. Time passes and Martin's worse for wear, as displayed when Arthur's concoction goes down wrong. Douglas comes to the rescue!<br/>Could be Douglas/Martin if you have your slash goggles on</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting the Bloody Captain to Accept Help

**Author's Note:**

> Good God I love Martin. He's the whumpiest character ever, don't even deny it. Please enjoy reading.

“Alright boys, pay up!” Carolyn chirped happily as she entered the flight deck. Douglas hadn’t managed to keep the flight to Johannesburg under the limit and now he and Martin had to pay up. Grumbling, Douglas handed over a check for one thousand pounds. Carolyn gleefully accepted.

  
“Martin?” Martin froze.

  
“Ah, right, um, I…” Martin anxiously chewed on his lower lip and scratched at his gingery hair. “Funny thing is, I don’t, err, have a thousand pounds.” He looked up from underneath the lid of his captain’s cap.

  
“On you? Of course not, you dolt! Write a check,” Carolyn ordered imperiously.

  
“You misunderstand… I have… thirty pounds, in my wallet. And nothing else…” Martin’s voice dropped lower and lower and he fiddled with his fingers, picking at his thumb’s nail.

  
Carolyn began to say something, but Martin cut in, “I’ll pay, I swear! Just give me some time, please!?”

  
Douglas looked like he was going to say something, but Carolyn merely nodded. “Fine, Martin.” She left, dragging Arthur along with her.

  
“Thirty pounds, Martin? What do you spend your salary on? Certainly not clothing, I’ve seen you in but two outfits besides your uniform.”

  
“I don’t… have a salary, remember?”

  
“Well, what do you do to get by?”

  
“Well, when my father died he… uh left me his van.” Expecting Douglas to laugh at him, Martin quickly continued. “I mean, I knew my father never liked me, but still just the damn van? Simon and Caitlyn got five grand each and I got the van. He might as well have left a note saying ‘Martin, you utter failure, just do as you’re told for once! Become an engineer, you’ll never be a pilot and everyone knows it!’” Martin huffed. “Well, now, I use the van to move people’s stuff cross country on our days off. And that’s how I get by.”

  
“Thirty pounds, though? Excluding rent?” Douglas asked, concern for the younger pilot growing.

  
“I don’t pay rent anymore, I couldn’t afford it, so I left the student house. I just have… forget it,” Martin turned a dark shade of red and went quiet.

  
“Martin,” Douglas quietly began, but Martin didn’t let him finish.

  
“Save it, Douglas! I don’t want to hear about your perfect life with your Lexus and your daughter and your pay!” Martin slumped into his seat. “Let’s just fly this bloody plane.”

  
They were nearly silent the rest of the flight, except for overly polite questions about fuel level and the like. Once they landed and the post-flight checks were completed, Douglas turned to Martin.

  
“What do you mean you don’t live in the student house? Where do you sleep?” Martin paled and practically sprinted out of the flight deck, his van peeling out of the car park just as Douglas reached it.

  
“What’s wrong with Martin?” Carolyn asked.

  
“Haven’t the slightest.”

 

 

The weeks passed and slowly Douglas noticed how much thinner Martin seemed. Martin would show up to work with gigantic bags under his eyes and eat whatever Arthur threw at them as if it was the last morsel on Earth, which worried Douglas. Some of the dishes looked absolutely hazardous, but he kept quiet about it until one day he reached his breaking point. Martin was pale and shaking when he arrived to work, clearly sick. He shivered, even in the heated flight deck and Douglas was about to say something when they were interrupted.

  
Arthur had come in, holding two plates of his latest creation.

  
“Here you are, gents!” he chirped happily. When the covers were removed, Douglas had no clue what they were, or what they were supposed to be.

  
“What is it, Arthur?” Martin asked, pulling a plate to himself and picking up a forkful, sniffing it suspiciously.

  
“It went a bit wrong, if I’m to be honest,” Arthur said sadly.

  
“I’m sure it’ll be adequate Arthur, but I have a craving for biscuits, can you go fetch me some?” Douglas said. Arthur happily exited and Douglas turned to Martin who seemed to be having quite an internal dilemma.

  
“You aren’t seriously considering eating that, are you Martin?” Martin looked up, dropping the fork with a clatter.

  
“I dunno,” he said tiredly, rubbing at one of his eyes. With a deep breath, Martin braved a forkful as Douglas looked on, horrified.

  
Martin managed a little under a quarter of the foul concoction, hurriedly scooping it into his mouth and swallowing before he had the chance to taste it. As it hit his stomach, Martin turned green and dropped the plate with a smash.

  
“Skipper?” Arthur asked, returning with Douglas’ biscuits.

  
“M-move,” Martin croaked, unbuckling frantically and nearly shoving Arthur out of the way as he dived for GERTI’s bathroom.

  
“What’s wrong with Skip?” Arthur asked. There was a pause and then a horrible retching sound came from the bathroom.

  
“I’m afraid your meal didn’t go down as smoothly as we’d hoped.”

  
Arthur hurried into the bathroom after Martin, spotting the skinny captain clutching the toilet bowl, gasping for air in-between emptying his stomach.

  
“Douglas, what’s wrong with Martin?” Carolyn asked, spotting the pilot on the floor of the bathroom, shaking.

  
“He seemed to have a rather violent reaction to your son’s cooking,” Douglas said.

  
“Douglas, Mum! I think you ought to turn the plane round! Skip’s crying!”

  
Sure enough, Martin had tears running down his ashen face and was apologizing after each wrench of his stomach.

  
“Martin, calm down!” Carolyn ordered, approaching the bathroom.

  
“’M sorry, ‘m sorry!” Martin was shuddering now. Arthur was rubbing circles on Martin’s bony back, but it was doing little to help. Carolyn took a look at Martin’s trembling form and returned to the flight deck.

  
“Douglas, turn the plane back, Martin needs to go home.”

  
“What? That bad?”

  
“Worse.”

  
Obligingly, Douglas turned GERTI around and by the time they arrived at Fitton airfield once more, Martin’s retching had stopped, but his sobs hadn’t. Once landed, Douglas went to Martin’s side, placing a palm on his forehead to check for fever. Douglas’ hand was cool and Martin leaned into the touch, his feverish mind barely registering anything at all.

  
“He’s burning up. Martin, where do you live?” Douglas asked, gesturing for Arthur to help him stand Martin up. Leaning heavily on the pair of them, Martin’s response was barely above a whisper.

  
“My van,”

  
“What?” Douglas was positive that wasn’t right.

  
“Can’t ‘fford rent, live in my van,” Martin managed to string together a slightly coherent sentence.

  
“He lives in his van? Cool!” Arthur exclaimed. Douglas shook his head.

  
“No, Arthur, this is bad...” he tried to think of a solution. “Alright, Arthur, help me get him to my car, I’ll take him to my house. It’s freezing out, he can’t stay in the back of a bloody van!” Arthur nodded and shifted Martin over slightly.

  
“He’s not very heavy,” he said. Douglas nodded grimly, then turned to Carolyn as they began to walk towards the car park. “Has he paid you the thousand pounds?”

  
“He managed to hand it to me, in cash, this morning,”

  
“Carolyn, have a bloody heart and give it back. If you don’t start paying him, he’ll pass out when we’re in the air or end up sicker than this, need to be hospitalized and then you’ll lose money hiring a new captain!

  
“Douglas, if you’re suggesting that I only care about the money I’m losing,” Carolyn said angrily, “then you are very mistaken! Of course I care that Martin’s like this! Loath as I am to admit it, I actually like the little twerp, unlike the last two pilots.” Douglas began to apologize.

  
“I’m sorry, Carolyn, I didn’t mean to imply-“

  
“I know, Douglas. I don’t know if I’d be able to afford giving him a salary substantial enough for him to get by without the second job…”

  
Douglas nodded, managing to pile Martin in the Lexus’ passenger’s seat. Martin’s legs had chosen that moment to give out and ignoring the mutters coming from the half conscious pilot, Douglas buckled him and closed the door turning back to Carolyn.

  
“I have a guest room…” he suggested. “Martin will never voluntarily accept it,” he sighed.

  
“You’ll have to make him. I am not having Martin living in the back of a bloody van!” Carolyn rubbed her forehead. “I suppose I could scrounge up some, but MJN is close to going under, like always,” Carolyn paused. “To pay Martin, you’d probably have a pay cut, Douglas.”

  
Douglas thought it over and nodded.

  
“Fine,”

  
“What, really?”

  
“Yes, I don’t need it, per say. I have more than enough to cover what I need and besides, it’s not like I’m going on shopping sprees.”

  
Carolyn nodded wearily. “I’ll make it work. Take Martin home- to your home, and tell me once he’s better. Try and talk to the boy, for God’s sakes. Come, Arthur. We’ll see Martin later.” Carolyn and Arthur left, Arthur looking over his shoulder at the slumbering Martin in the seat of Douglas’ car.

  
Douglas got into his car and shot a worried glance at Martin. He was asleep, but was muttering nonsense in his dreams.

 

  
Quickly Douglas drove to his fairly nice home, and pulled into the short driveway. He crossed over to the other side of the Lexus and opened the door, shaking Martin’s shoulder gently.

  
“Martin,” he said quietly, trying to rouse the sleeping man. It didn’t work and, sighing, Douglas all but lifted him up, half supporting, half dragging Martin’s limp form into his house. He deposited Martin on the bed of the first floor bedroom, pulling off his shoes and throwing a quilt over him.

  
He went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and returned with one mug in hand, placing it on the bedside table as he went to wake Martin.

  
“Martin,” he shook the thin shoulder again.

  
“Martin wake up, you need some medicine,” he tried a bit louder.

  
Martin woke up with a start, blearily blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  
“Douglas?” he asked, utterly perplexed. “Where am I?”

  
“You’re at my house. You battled with Arthur’s cooking and lost. It exacerbated your cold.” Martin blinked, confused.

  
“I don’t…” he tried to say, confused and disoriented.

  
“Here, take this,” Douglas helped him sit up and handed three small red pills. “You have a fever. Swallow.” Martin nodded, and obliged. Douglas handed him a glass of water which he happily gulped down.

  
“I have some tea, if you want.” Douglas offered.

  
“Why am I here, Douglas? Why’d you bring me here?”

  
“What, as opposed to the back of your van?” Douglas said gruffly. Martin pinked a bit.

  
“How’d you know?”

  
“You can’t keep a secret when you’re feverish. You do realize that I won’t allow this to continue, right, Martin?”

  
“Why do you care?” Martin bit out and Douglas was shocked.

  
“Why do I care? Are you being deliberately obtuse?! Martin, you are one of the lucky few that I consider a close friend, of course I’d care that you were living out the back of your bloody van!” _How can he not know that?_ Douglas thought incredulously. Martin looked down.

  
“Did you think we weren’t friends, Martin?” Douglas asked quietly.

  
“Well, you never… I… um…” Martin couldn’t think of words to say that didn’t make him sound foolish.

  
“You idiot,” Douglas said without any malice, “here, have some tea and then rest. You can eat once you wake up.”

  
“Thanks,” Martin said, accepting the steaming mug of tea.

  
Douglas stood saying he’d return in a minute. Digging into his own dresser, he found an old pair of pajama bottoms and a tee shirt that could, hypothetically, fit Martin. He had kept them from the time he was in medical school, years and many pounds earlier. With luck, these would stay on Martin’s skinny hips, even if they drowned him a bit.

  
When he returned to the guest room, Martin was blowing on the tea, clearly sporting a burnt tongue.

  
“Here,” Douglas handed Martin the clothes.

  
“You really don’t have to,” Martin said, placing the tea on the bedside table.

  
“It’s fine, Martin. You won’t be able to sleep in your uniform.” Douglas turned and stood just outside of the door, closing it.

  
“Tell me when you’re finished changing,” he called, giving Martin privacy.

With a sigh Martin looked over the old pajamas, unbuttoning the front of his uniform.

  
Though he heard a thump, Douglas stayed outside the door. He did ask if Martin was okay after the noise. Martin overenthusiastically said that, yes, he was fine. Douglas figured he tripped. Over what, he hadn’t the faintest idea but he didn’t put it past Martin.

  
“Done!” Martin called and Douglas returned, restraining a laugh at the sight of Martin in his clothes. The younger pilot had folded the pajama bottoms’ cuffs up three or four times and the sleeves of the short sleeved shirt hung down around his elbows.

  
“I see you’ve made them fit. Get into bed, come on, under the covers,” Douglas ushered Martin to the bed, pulling the covers back so the man could get in.  
“Thanks, Douglas.”

  
“Not a problem. We’re going to talk once you wake up, about your accommodations and the like,” Douglas said firmly. He turned to leave.

  
“Good night, Martin. Get better,” Martin mumbled a response and snuggled deep under the covers as Douglas clicked the light off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Comments, questions, concerns, etc are welcome


End file.
